Killers Without a Cause
by Monolithic
Summary: Wolverine tells the students at the Xavier Institute about his experience fighting the Peace Walker project as part of the MSF.
1. Chapter 1

_**This is a crossover fanfic of X-Men Evolution and Metal Gear. While playing Peace Walker I noticed that my best recruit was codenamed "Wolverine" and it was kind of a no-brainer. In this story I use both the mutant's real names and mutant names without explanation as to who's who. So if you don't know who the characters are you will probably be confused by the usage of multiple names for them, and that's just too bad. :) After this first chapter you'll only need to know Wolverine. Probably.**_

**Killers Without a Cause**

**Chapter I - Prologue**

Nightcrawler dangled upside down from the high bar by his tail. He and some of the other young mutants had come to practice gymnastics with Coach McCoy, but were pleasantly surprised to find Wolverine instead. Beast was apparently on the verge of an important scientific breakthrough, and Logan had been pressed into service as his substitute.

"You need to calm down, Logan. You are one uptight dude," said Nightcrawler with his heavy German accent. His barbed tail released its hold on the bar and he gracefully dropped to his feet.

Kitty Pride poked her head through the vaulting horse and made a face.

"Yeah Logan, you should listen to Kurt and relax," she said and laughed.

Wolverine continued to ignore them, and clenched his teeth as he pulled his chin up past the bar in another rigid one armed pullup. He was hanging high in the air from the trapeze in the center of the room. Sweat dripped from his brow and his arm muscles bulged. He hadn't been expecting to actually teach. Xavier had conveniently forgot to mention that although today was a free day, the students were expected to spend some time practicing their extracurricular activities. Wolverine would definitely remember to ask for more specifics at his next mission briefing. Xavier always left out the unpleasant details when he was trying to sell Logan on an easy task like watching over the gym equipment. After all, he should have remembered that most important fact of nature: There's no such thing as a free workout, Bub.

Logan trembled slightly as his arm hoisted him for the one hundredth time. He dropped to his feet lightly, though the fall from the trapeze was close to ten feet and his bones were reinforced with an untold weight of adamantium. He reached for a towel and dabbed the sweat from his face, then tossed it in the bin. He paused to take in the scene. Nightcrawler was teleporting from once piece of equipment to the next and knocking them all over in pursuit of Kitty, who of course went right through them all. Bobby was crafting a gigantic ice ramp for Spyke. Rogue was being moody in the corner. The only two practicing gymnastics were Scott and Jean blushing at each other on the balance beam.

"Everyone knock it off. Stop. HEY!" Logan said, snarling the last word with his gravelly voice.

Everyone stopped except Nightcrawler and Kitty. In her surprise, Kitty caught a towel in the face and bounced off one of the room's padded walls. Nightcrawler luckily only had four feet to fall to the floor. All eyes fell on Wolverine.

"Listen up! I'm ain't yer coach, but ya can't be causing all this chaos," he paused to sniff the air, "and lunch ain't gonna be ready for another hour or so. So how bout ya all just sit down and play who can keep their trap shut the tightest while I hit this punching bag."

He glared around the room. Everyone was about to reluctantly obey. Almost everyone anyway.

"As if, Wolverine!" said Kitty, who had righted herself.

"Ja! If you want us to play 'nap time' you could at least tell us a story first," joked Kurt from the floor.

Wolverine slugged the bag once, then paused and tilted his head for a moment in thought.

"Ya know what? Fine. Whaddaya kids wanna know?"

The students froze and looked at each other in shock at Logan's out of character willingness to expatiate upon his past. Then they all rushed towards him while calling out innumerable questions.

"Have you ever knocked a guy out of his shoes?

"Do your sideburns just grow like that or do you trim them?"

"Do you have any phobias?"

"Did you really fight in World War II with Captain America?"

Wolverine raised a hand for them to stop. He stretched and sat down on one of the lifting benches. Pointing to Bobby, who had asked the last question, he responded.

"Yes, I did have the honor of serving with Cap," he said, "But, this yelling thing ain't gonna work out. Ya can ask me one more thing and we'll just concentrate on that."

The students bunched together and whispered. After some deliberation they broke the huddle and sat down at Logan's feet. Scott posed the group's question.

"Is Captain America the best soldier you have ever fought alongside? If not then who was and when did you serve with them?"

Wolverine spent very little time mulling over his answer before he knew what he was going to say. In truth, there was only one candidate for the position of ultimate soldier. He knew the skills of this man firsthand, as their relationship had both started and ended with Logan unconscious. Though Logan had not aged since that day and his old comrade had, the thirty years that had passed might not change the outcome of that fight.

"Well," Wolverine reached up and scratched the back of his neck, "To tell ya about the best soldier I ever worked with I haveta tell ya about how I got hooked into working for some scum in the CIA, and about how I was recruited into an outfit called the Militaires Sans Frontiers."


	2. Chapter 2

**Killers Without a Cause**

**Chapter 2**

In 1973 Canada sent some soldiers into Vietnam to help enforce the new peace treaty. I didn't spend very much time there before I'd had enough of it. War is war, and it's ugly, but a bunch of kids getting pushed through the jungle by the fat cats back home just ain't right. Some of us up north had wanted to get in sooner; we had enough guys with grit that maybe some of the kids who wanted to stay home in the states could've. Seemed that our brass didn't have the stones to get their hands dirty, and you guys' didn't have the stones to walk away when their men on the ground weren't up to it. More than one kind of coward in the world, and more than one kind of hero too. Anyone who answered the call to go, even the ones who couldn't take it in the end, were heroes in my book.

Anyway, I got shipped home as soon as I could and moved south. There was a lot of work to be done and not nearly as many able bodies to be doing it as before. I moved some cattle in Texas for the most part. Good work. I was having one of my best years before a spook claiming to be from Langley dropped down on my campsite in a helicopter in the middle of the night. Introduced himself with the dumbest codename I've ever heard- _**Hot Coldman**_- and made me an offer I couldn't refuse. As best I can remember I was pretty old by then, but I was a stupid kid yet in more ways than one. He said he was putting the finishing touches on a top secret project that would end conflicts like 'Nam. Said their wouldn't be no more power plays between the east and the west. No more boys needed to die over philosophies they didn't even understand. He said he just needed me for security, and that he heard I was one of the best. Still, he couldn't let me in on the specifics of the operation. Truth be told, I was relieved not to have to deal in the dirty details. Like I said, I was still a stupid kid.

I got my gear together and shipped early the next month as soon as I brought the cattle in. Never been to Costa Rica before or since, but it's true what they say: "Land as slim as a whip and as hot as torture."

They set me up guarding a train station/truck depot. Got a complement of soldiers under me to train and keep busy and everything. Thought I was doing pretty good for myself. I only wondered what I was shipping up the mountain at first, but since every crate I checked had random junk in it or standard supplies I stopped worrying and went back to blissful ignorance. Occasionally I would get special cargo coming through, but I was always too busy tightening security to check into those. Later I would learn that one of the reasons Coldman hired me is that I don't get radiation poisoning. That way I wouldn't need to be briefed on what was in the crates with codename "_spears_" stamped on the side. In case you kids hadn't guessed ahead, he was a real bastard.

I did have one friend in the place though, a guy who rode in the trucks with various shipments. Real sagely type. He would lecture me on the way life is largely predetermined by others, and on how much more important that makes those moments where you truly get to make your own choices. I still hold that advice dear, even though I never caught his name. It would turn out that one of those times when you get to make your own choices was coming up for me pretty soon.

* * *

_**Sorry, not a lot of fun to be had this chapter. Big Boss comes to town in the next one. It'll be a hot time I promise. P.S. The guy who rode in trucks is a hidden character in the game. You probably know his name. **_**;) P.P.S. ****_This story will be _super massively- _nigh on_ completely-_ spoilerific for the game Peace Walker. Proceed at your own peril._**


	3. Chapter 3

**Killers Without a Cause**

**Chapter 3**

We were getting a big delivery coming through one day. Had strict orders to take it immediately off the train and put it straight into the trucks. Coldman had sent a cadre of his finest down to do the lifting, and some armor for support. I sent my boys out to guard the perimeter and set myself to watching the loading process. It made me uneasy. I didn't like the way they handled the crates. Too, I dunno, _gingerly_. I was just about to go check out what they were so worried about, but they loaded up the last crate and ignored me when I told them to stop so I could take a look. They were real tightlipped the whole time, but when I started asking questions they clammed up entirely. The head of the group said I would have to talk to Coldman. I started back to the base to radio him and do just that, but I never made it. I saw them lock up the back of truck 64779, and I stormed around the corner- right into a bearded guy with an eyepatch.

Before I could react he slugged me twice in quick succession. First the throat then the jaw. Then he gave me an expert kick that flipped me sideways onto the ground. I never did learn how he did so much with such a subtle kick. I was gasping too much from the strike to the throat to call out for backup, and to be honest I wouldn't have. He was just one guy. My anger at Coldman was still burning, and I was fully intending to give this punk some new holes to breath out of. When I started to get up off the ground he came at me in a forward roll that landed me flat on my back. My breath had just come back enough for me to snarl as I came up again. The claws came out, but the stranger hardly registered surprise. I swung at him with everything I had and all I did was put some nicks in his fatigues. He pulled out a handgun, I recognized it as an MK. 22 Mod.0 Hush Puppy, and put a dart between my eyes. The impact from point blank put me on my back again. The enemy soldier turned and crept to the corner I had rounded before running into him, and peeked around it in time to catch the back of the truck as it drove away. He radioed someone, and I could tell he thought I was down and out from the dart. Truth be told, tranqs don't put me down, but they can make me sluggish for a bit. I knew from our brief exchange that I wouldn't be able to do much against him until I sobered back up. I'd take him by surprise in a moment or two.

After a few seconds, I silently rolled over onto my chest. I plucked the dart from my face and prepared to pounce on the bastard. Right when I was about to strike, a shell exploded nearby. The T-72 Ural tank that Coldman had sent as backup had spotted the intruder and fired. I was thrown back a couple more feet and caught a piece of shrapnel in the shoulder from the train car that the shell had hit. Oh, and remind me to tell you kids sometime how much it hurts to have your eardrums ruptured by the shock wave of a tank shell. Here's the short version: It hurts a lot.

The struck train car slid on by and came to rest blocking the tunnel that the truck had disappeared into. The stranger was already moving. He had circled the tank and its escort, putting himself behind them as they came in for a sweep on his last known position. I struggled with the shrapnel in my shoulder. As I saw the two guys at the back of their formation go down and get drug into the shadows I started waving and shouting a warning to the rest of them. The snotty bastards knew they didn't have to take my orders so they ignored me. Their loss. They all were taken down by the time the tank unit commander even noticed. Expecting that their radios had simply been jammed, he popped the hatch and stuck his head out to coordinate his troops by voice alone. The pale white of pure astonishment flooded his face when he saw that they were all actually gone. The stranger stepped out of the shadows and put a dart in the commander's neck, then climbed up on the tank and clipped an odd apparatus to the commander's belt. A balloon inflated and tugged the officer up into the air slightly, then a helicopter swooped in and snagged the cord- ripping the tank commander into the air. The stranger pointed his gun into the tank through the open hatch and the gunner and driver both surrendered. At this point I got the shrapnel free of my shoulder.

My wound healed by the time I got to my feet. My ears had long since repaired themselves. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't pissed the hell off- pardon the language kids. The claws snapped back out and I advanced on the intruder with murder in my heart. He seemed a little surprised to see me up and around, and he had already started talking on his radio again. I assume he was coordinating a pickup of the tank he had just captured. Tank he had just captured, that is just ridiculous. I had carved through one or two tanks in my time and barely survived, but _capturing a tank by yourself?_

When I got to where he stood I asked if he had a name. He said no. I asked what he was doing here. He said bird watching. I asked if he was going out of his way to piss me off. He said no, and asked if I was going to fight or keep talking. He said the battlefield was no place for theatrics. Later I would remember the way he said the word "battlefield" with such reverence, if I hadn't been so mad at the time I would've known him to be the real deal. But I _was_ mad, so I said fine bub it's your funeral.

I came forward snarling and swiping my right hand claws from right to left at his neck, but he ducked beneath my arm and came up right in my face where I couldn't swing at him again. With my right hand swung out wide to my left I tried to bring up my left in a stab to his ribcage, but he gripped my wrist and guided the blow out wide to my right. Suddenly I realized that I had my arms crossed in front of me with my claws pointed out in as helpless of a pose as I can get myself into. The intruder smirked at me, his face inches from mine. I hated him so much in that moment that I honest to God tried to bite him in the face. He slipped back a few inches and shot me between the eyes with his damn dart gun again. This time I was too pissed to pretend to be out. I shakily pulled myself back to my feet right away, and he just looked at me for a moment. I'm pretty sure the look he gave me was one of respect. Today that fills me with pride, but right then it just made me foolishly think he was getting scared of me. I staggered forward a step and started to raise my fists. Before they got above waist level he had taken two steps forward and buried a straight right hand into my adam's apple. The shock of the blow caused my claws to retract, and I fell to my knees gasping for air. The intruder stepped around me and locked me in a headlock from behind. I hate to tell you kids this, but where tranqs fail to knock me out- oxygen deprivation can get the job done. I was still completely stunned from the strike to the throat, and couldn't fight back as he locked in the choke hold. He let me go when I went limp. As the ground rushed up to kiss me I heard him radioing someone back at his base that he had a dangerous bit of cargo to be picked up. By that point I had learned that this guy was no joke, and hearing him refer to me as dangerous gave me a little bit of pride to grip onto as I fell into the darkness.


End file.
